Hey, it's Snowing!

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"If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" - Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face". - Victor Hugo

"Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day." - Elizabeth Bowen 

"Advice is like snow - the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind."- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Now, winter can be a cold, miserable season, especially as we grow old, comfort and joy over festivities relatively short-lived. Yet, the simple sound of children having fun building a snowman can warm the cockles of even the most sceptical heart among us…if we but make time to let it.

As much of the UK experiences its first winter snowfall, even many a disgruntled commuter and shopper is also  discovering that it is better to take snow in their stride and wear an infectious smile than be a miserable so-and-so, adamantly refusing to look on the bright(er) side of life...😉

HEY, IT’S SNOWING…!

Gardens covered in snow
trees all-a-glitter in the morning sun,

Everyone moved by the view
from a cosy indoors
until they need to venture outside
to go to work, school, 
whatever the reason, now having 
to do battle with a freezing winter’s day,
come what may

Motorists menaced by fog
obscuring even the sharpest vision;
icy surfaces demanding
extra care, pedestrians under no less
threat of injury from falls,
especially the old and frail, welcoming
a steadying hand now and then
as sudden, bursts of the white stuff strike 
young and old alike 

A thin spread of ice on ponds,
and lakes inviting, but best avoided
for safety’s sake,
better to build a snowman, sounds
of fun and laughter
warming the cockles of hearts worldwide
seeking respite from the cold,
looking to engage with sunnier memories
to relax, find peace

Inner eye, following footprints in the snow
where spring flowers are preparing to grow

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

A Lion in Winter

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Overheard: “This pandemic, it seems to have the heart of lion. Let’s hope the vaccines are good hunters!”

Ah, but the human spirit, too, is more than capable of lending the heart of a lion to any of us whenever we need it most; it also has a lion’s skill in avoiding capture. 

A friend who lost his wife to breast cancer a few years ago, commented at her funeral “Of course, I’ll always miss her terribly, but love has the heart of a lion, and that never dies. Hers  is more than enough to see me through the rest of my life... for better, for worse”

A LION IN WINTER 

Find me in a very lonely place,
its corners dark and bare,
struggling to ward off fears
surging through my body,
snapping at my mind for thoughts
tossing me such ideas as not made to last,
leading nowhere - fast 

All things bright and beautiful
out of sight where windows
sparing me no signs of life-light,
the only shadows, my fears,
my only company, the sounds of mice
come to feed on what may yet be left of me
worth saving for... eternity? 

No place else to go but here, fear
stoking all but dead ashes,
mind-body-spirit as keen to bury
all traces of positive-thinking
as needing to break free of a Black Hole
carved out by the likes of regrets and despair
haunting past-present-future 

Suddenly, flickers of light all around,
growing in shape and form,
warning I not let them out of my sight
or risk returning to this prison,
left blaming Fate for such human flaws
as unable to rally lifeforces enough to restore
a lion grown weary of winter 

Slowly, but surely, inner eye (and ear) freed again
to rework the art of being human 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, rev.2021 

[Note: The original version of this poem appears in my collection The Third Eye, Assembly Books, 2004.]

 

 

 

 

 

Safe and Sound

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Today, another revised post-poem from a year or so ago. 

Now, whenever people often tell me that they hate winter, the cold and snow, I am inclined to agree while Muse enjoys letting cosy fires conjure up such images of comfort and joy as can be relied on to home in on a more positive approach to past-present-future.    

Home, is where the heart is, is it not? More often than not, it is people, not a place, unless it is a place of special significance for us, not least because of those with whom we visited it and shared happy memories. My mother once described winter as 'a very happy-sad time'; it would be many years before I quite understood what she meant. 

The best of nature and human nature is a door that is open to us all 24/7, whatever season of mind-body-spirit in which we may find ourselves at any given time, for whatever reason. For many, it opens the way to comfort zones that will inspire and see us through thick and thin all our lives, no matter our gender, religion, culture, sexuality...for as long as we choose to dwell on the positives in our lives even as we tackle the negatives. 

Although unwell at the moment, I still practise what I preach in so far as I continue to look on the bright(er) side of life through just such a door...

SAFE AND SOUND

In winters of the heart,
no sweeter thoughts than of love
to thaw frozen cockles
by fires rekindling kinder landscapes.
taking us further even
than the eye can see for having us focus
on a collage of positive thoughts

Oh, such times past
that lift even the mind-body-spirit
through its wintry days;
a child’s delight in the sheer poetry
of rainbows, flowers, trees,
in awe of the natural world, no sense (yet)
of its ever being taken for granted! 

Oh, such times past
as homing in on love in all its shapes
and forms, journeys
of a lifetime sure to keep family, friends
and lovers among sunny skies,
oblivious to any spoilsport clouds gathering
with more than mischief in mind! 

Oh, such times past,
inviting the adrenaline to flow as fast
and furious as any river,
every vein throbbing so for the first thrill
of being in love, and reason
to hope it will be returned in full, last forever,
one in the eye for its naysayers! 

Oh, such times past
as kept busy weeding out the poorer
to leave the very best
more space to grow, time for nurture, present
and future in the balance,
a kinder humanity sure to reap its own rewards, 
the rest but left out in the cold! 

In winters of the heart,
no warmer thoughts than of love to thaw
any frozen cockles,
let gentle, evergreen landscapes, further even
than the eye can see,
inspire mind-body-spirit to make such journeys
as sure to see it return safe and sound 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Winter, haunt of 'live' Ghosts

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I may seem strange to publish a winter poem in August. Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2010 at a time when the UK and much of Europe was seeing its worst winter for some years. 

Ten years on and many of us are experiencing a cruel winter of the heart as the Covid-19 coronavirus remains active worldwide; combined with the effects of increasing climate change, the world and everyday life as we know it is changing faster than anyone could have predicted even just a few years ago.

A reader suggests I am "talking nonsense" when I refer to a posthumous consciousness. Fair enough, we must agree to differ.  Only ... an aunt of mine lost both her son and daughter in their early 20's within just a few years of each other; one to a driving accident, the other to breathing difficulties made worse for being asthmatic. She once told me that "Of course I miss them terribly, more than  words can say, but they will always be a part of me and their dad; their presence there is not only veyt real but also very comforting. We are still a family, after all." 

I felt much the same way when my mother died, although having to cope with the reality meant it would take a nervous breakdown three years later to - eventually - reach the same place as my aunt.  

We die, yes, but its is far more than a poet's imagination that we live on through others, for better, for worse, although the human mind-body-spirit is such that it is more likely to take inspiration from the former than dwell on the latter. 

Those life forces that are the making of us all may well be a curious combination of good and bad, but mind-body-spirit will always make more room (and time) for the former ... if we let it, rather than put up roadblocks along the lines of envy, jealousy, and a sense of being unable (quite) to forgive, either ourselves and/ or others. 

WINTER, HAUNT OF 'LIVE' GHOSTS

Where once daisies in meadows green,
footmarks where Jack Frost
has paused, glanced over his shoulder
for any sign of a 'live' ghost
(man or woman?) haunting each step
he takes…
marking each heavy, careless tread,
all green things left for dead
that may yet be saved
where other seasons await their cue
within its savage breast

Sure to bide its time before descending
on wings of a dove
spreading its wings like an eiderdown
of white satin
where a restless world dreams of waking
to a peace and goodwill
folk singers will celebrate for years,
while angel voices make a play
to fill half empty pews
and world leaders grace Sunday prayers
in election years

It will not stay long, if time well spent,
making good at least some
of the damage old Jack inclined to do,
reminding brave robin,
(eternal optimist) of other lives sleeping
off hangovers
from half forgotten centuries lusting
for the joys of spring
all but lost in the thick of such wars
on nature’s own deadlier even than Jack’s
for being human

As peace, to pain, a kindness sure to show;
where winter ghosts, spring sure to follow

Copyright R.N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007]

Inspiratonal

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I love to watch and hear birds. For me, though, (yes, even after the skylark) the robin has to be the most inspirational.

Most if not all of us of us discover at some time or another that parting is, indeed, a sweet sorrow; the sweeter for happy memories that continue to sustain us.

I first read this poem by Emily Dickinson while reading English and American Literature at the University of Kent in Canterbury way back in 1971; it has been one of my favourite poems ever since, also inspiring some of my own, not least the one below.

“If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.” 

Emily Dickinson

INSPIRATIONAL

In a field of snow, I thought I saw

red berries on the branches of a tree,

but homing in, I discovered

it was but the breast of a lone robin

calling out to me

Robin, living in the hope of spring,

where love grows in a field of dreams,

though snow lay on the ground,

Earth Mother’s way of preserving

any kinder options

I stumbled, watching the robin fly

all but blindly, nor was I even looking

for hope to kindle my soul;

you took that with you when you left

along with spring

How my legs found the will to move

I can only guess was to honour the bird

as it returned, its bitter-sweet song

at a twilight in shreds for winter’s claws,

the loneliest ever heard

It was then you put your hand in mine,

and I lay my weary head on your shoulder,

as against all odds we staggered home

together, just as we had sworn ever to stay

through growing older

At the door of our house, we parted,

a glorious light in your eyes like a rainbow

among my tears you wiped dry

with the same hand that still wore my ring,

a guiding light in the snow

I thought I heard you speak my name

then saw it was but the wings of my robin

vanishing where yet I dare not go

but would, in time, just as those same tears

had followed your coffin

If a robin can see the cruelty of winter through,

be sure we lovers, though parted, can too

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'The Robin' in On the Battlefields of Love by  R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

Mind-Body-Spirit, Opening Up to Spring

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Spring is in the air, but sadly, the COVID-19 coronavirus is taking its toll just abut everywhere across the world. Not since World War 2 have we all needed to trust love - in all its shape and forms - to distract us and help us rediscover peace of mind ...

"Daffodils that come before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty." - William Shakespeare (The Winter's Tale)

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, OPENING UP TO SPRING

Come wintry seasons,

no peace for the unquiet mind

as it mulls its choices;

none so obvious as yelling “Me!”

and let the rest go free,

leaving mind-body-spirit to focus

on such kinder aspects

of human nature as any disinclined

to be a slave to its worst flaws

Winter, preferring gloom

to sunlight more often than not,

sending mixed feelings

all but mad with mixed messages,

now reassuring us,

now threatening us with the worst

it can throw our way,

now suggesting we do this, now that,

at each new day’s dragging out

Come, a hint of spring,

daffodils making their presence felt

in buds no quite ready

to open their hearts to the world,

let us see inside,

be inspired by Earth Mother’s need

to take a lead,

defy inhibitions hell bent on throwing

even the best of us off the scent

To mind-body-spirit, all the more peace 
and love for spring’s embrace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Oh, Christmas Tree...

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December, and a new poem. Over the next few weeks I will be publishing archival posts (on and from both blogs) leading up to Christmas. No, I do not celebrate Christmas, but like many if not most religions and religious festivals, it brings out both the best and the worst in people, challenge enough for anyone, not least a pantheist poet.

I asked a friend whose family, like me, do not subscribe to any religion, why they celebrate Christmas, a Christian festival? "Apart from the religious aspect," he replied, "it is all about peace and goodwill to all humankind, isn't it? That has to be worth celebrating, surely?"  I could not agree more, but peace and goodwill to all humankind is not (or should not) be a seasonal aspiration; both belong to the evergreen family.

Well, hope springs eternal...

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE...

Oh, Christmas tree,
all tinsel, pretty baubles
and presents
for everyone on hand,
lead character
in a play for all the family,
meant to convey
a message of home comforts
and eternal love

Oh, Christmas tree,
tell me what it is you see
from the window
you face, curtains drawn
so rough sleepers
may yet dare to dream
of kinder days,
children playing in the sun,
laughing off the rain

Oh, Christmas tree,
do you even remember me,
one who dressed you
in between a mince pie here,
a sneaky sip
of homemade wine there,
and writing cards
meant to spread love and cheer
at least till New Year?

Oh, Christmas tree,
so soon abandoned, forgotten,
caste off as waste,
not even up for recycling,
your artistry
as artificial as the needles
messing the carpet
and pricking the eyes of all those
Santa Claus forgot

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Wishing the World Love and Peace (Not just for Christmas)

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One of various Christmas poems I have written over the years, this post/poem is taken from my gay-interest poetry blog archives for December 2013. I subscribe to no religion yet the spirit of Christmas always touches me, and takes me down Memory Lane, especially perhaps as I was born on the winter solstice, just four days before Christmas Day...

The Christmas Peace of 1914 is legendary. On Christmas Eve 1914, men of the British Expeditionary Force (B.E.F.) heard German troops in the trenches opposite singing carols, spotted lanterns and small fir trees along their trenches. They started shouting messages to each other and the following day, British and German troops met in no man’s land to exchange gifts, take photographs and even play impromptu games of football. Tragically it made no difference to four more years of the war meant to end all wars…  

If Christmas and other religious festivals are about peace and love, why don’t we see more of it in everyday life? 

For those lovers (gay or straight) who have found both in a meaningful relationship with each other, family, and friends…ENJOY. 

For those lovers (gay or straight) who are less fortunate, ENJOY every precious moment with each other. 

Can there be any greater comfort and joy than love? For religious minded people, may they enjoy their festivals, but let’s all remember that religion has no more a monopoly grip on love than it has on the human spirit.

If Christmas and other religious festivals are about peace and love, why don’t we see more of it in everyday life?

For those (gay or straight) who have found both in a lasting, meaningful relationship with each other, family, and friends…ENJOY.

For those  (gay or straight) who are less fortunate, ENJOY every precious moment with each other.

Can there be any greater comfort and joy than love? For religious minded people, may they enjoy their festivals, but let’s all remember that religion has no more a monopoly grip on love than it has on the human spirit.

This poem is a villanelle.

WISHING THE WORLD LOVE AND PEACE (NOT JUST FOR CHRISTMAS)

One day, close to Christmas,

long, long, ago…

cock robin sang for us

Bigots had been unkind to us,

dealt a savage blow

one day, close to Christmas

Icy rain, camouflage for tears

we refused to show

cock robin sang for us

A kind snowman hid our fears

under a coat of snow;

one day, close to Christmas

In a time of gifts and promises

(prayers to follow?)

cock robin sang for us

Love, defying even wintry years
to chill us to the marrow;

one day, close to Christmas,

cock robin sang for us…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

When Winter Comes OR Mind-Body-Spirit, Never Say Die

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Many of us, enjoy the colours and subtle nuances than falling leaves in autumn all the more because needs must we brace ourselves for what could well be a hard  winter ahead weather-wise. 

Others may well face a testing winter of the heart, wherever they may be, regardless of time and seasons. Some may well argue it’s a case of the survival of the fittest, and there is a lot of truth in that, but the physically weak can also be emotionally strong; strong enough even to rise above  wintry blasts of depression, anxiety, everyday concerns …

We have but to give a natural lust for life its head and the chances are its predilection for positive thinking will, in time, rescue us from the pull of negative forces, bypass even the most heroic stoicism, and allow an innate optimism, Hope’s much loved bed-fellow, to once again play a leading role in our lives.

Wherever we may be in the world, whatever its weather patterns, day will always follow night just as winter will always follow spring on the calendar of nature and human nature alike; the latter, though, needs must find a way to turn on the power of mind-body-spirit to save its natural optimism from dying just long enough to rediscover that raison d’être which has to be as good a metaphor for spring as any other.

WHEN WINTER COMES or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT,  NEVER SAY DIE

Oh, but when winter comes,

I look around and see trees stripped bare,

and petals in tatters where flowers

once lifted this heart now close to tears

for having watched the swallows fly south

that once greeted its spring

Oh, but when winter comes,

I look around at snowfall on the ground,

see children playing, laughing,

making merry with each other instead

of being glued to social media in a world

whose seasons rolled into one

Oh, but when winter comes

find the days grow shorter, nights longer,

all the more so for a prevailing

north wind wailing like some lost spirit

of summer trying to find its way back home,

familiar landmarks wiped out

Oh, but when winter comes,

I’ll see robins give the lie to defeatism 

in as sweet a song as ever there was

to fill a sad heart with hope for a future

beyond any wintry landscape’s implying

positive thinking is a cruel hoax

Oh, but when winter comes,

I’ll get together with friends, make light

of any feelings of empty days

or lonely nights for hearts beating in time

to what is, after all, but an overture to spring

composed-performed by nature

Oh, but when winter comes,

may divided societies around the world

yet join hands and dance

to the music of its time, fan any flickering

peace-liberty-fraternity into a flaming spring, 

season of second chances...

Copyright R N Taber, 2017

Spring Fields, the Poetry of Anticipation

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We are constantly reminded of the resilience of nature and human nature to rise above even the worst winter may throw at it. So, too, we see evidence of that enduring penchant of human mind, body and spirit for the kind of creative therapy that lifts us out of despair and carries us into spring. What happens then, of course, is no secret where nature is concerned; new life, indeed. As for mind, body, and spirit, these can but reunite and do their best to rise above the worst and wing us along with the skylark, perennial metaphor for hope renewed and dreams reworked…that never (quite) went away.

SPRING FIELDS, THE POETRY OF ANTICIPATION

When winter comes,

its days so long, cold, and dark

where do dreams fly

that once rose with the lark,

kept us company

in spring fields bringing new life

to each flower, each tree?

When winter comes,

dimming even the brightest spirit,

what happens to hopes

that once nested in the heart,

kept the mind company

in spring fields bringing new life

to each flower, each tree?

When winter comes,

poverty sure to leave its mark,

to whom do they turn,

faced with life choices as stark

as keeping the heating on,

putting food on the table, buying

clothes for the children?

When winter comes,

snowflakes like failing heartbeats,

how do they survive,

forced to beg on busy streets

for the right to be free

of winter’s worst, a helping hand

from everyday humanity

When winter comes,

its days so long, cold and dark,

drive mind, body and spirit

to image wings of the same skylark

that kept us company

in spring fields bringing new life

to each flower, each tree

Where winter comes,

companion north wind blowing,

sparing no one,

find hopes and dreams creating

a bold new tapestry

of spring fields bringing new life

and hope to ailing humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2016

An Affinity (of sorts) with Winter OR World, Half Asleep

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Some readers will recognize this poem as I once posted it over the Christmas period as one of my Poems for Christmas. However, I have decided to make several significant changes which I think makes the poem more perennial…like the Heath itself.

The editors of a delightful Hampstead Heath site that includes the original among other poems will be editing accordingly. ('Culture' button.)

http://www.hampsteadheath.net/heath-poetry-introduction.html

I am so fortunate to live within easy walking distance of Hampstead Heath. I love to stroll there in all weathers.  Conscious of walking in the footsteps of giants - Keats, Turner, Dickens…to name but a few - I feel similarly inspired. I cannot compare myself with their talents, but suspect I am filled with much the same sense of love and peace as they for communing with nature in all its shapes and forms. 

Photo: Hampstead Heath in winter

AN AFFINITY (OF SORTS) WITH WINTER or WORLD, HALF ASLEEP

One wintry day,

I strolled on Hampstead Heath,

snow almost ankle deep

in a world whose very life-force

fallen half asleep

A deafening silence

hurt my ears as I made my way

among trees like chandeliers,

ran a gamut of moon shadows

and winter’s tears

Apollo’s footprints

buried among kinder memories,

yet every now and then

I would chance to catch the eye

of a custom snowman

I had started out alone,

but not for long, friendly ghosts

of seasons past anxious

to keep me company, lend hope,

transcend worst fears

Redbreast, too, began

conjuring up images of a lasting

love, comfort, and peace;

songs composed by Earth Mother,

plagiarised by clerics

Mind and spirit so inspired,

every host body welcome to share

(no matter whose or where)

that holds this life’s finer dreams

close and dear

One wintry day

I strolled on Hampstead Heath,

snow almost calf deep

in a world posturing life balance

while half asleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

A Winter Canvas

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Winter can be as incredibly harsh as it can be incredibly beautiful. Such is life, and human nature. Art may well do its very best to interpret and record, but it can only ever be one interpretation of one particular moment in time…

 Claude Monet - Snow at Argenteuil (1875)

A WINTER CANVAS

Straggly trees against a snowy sky,
robin redbreast in low key,
snowflakes like angels drifting by,
no more idea of what they’re doing,
where they’re going (or why)
than those of us down here, eagerly
lapping up the weather forecast
though for no particular reason other
than everyone else will be doing
much the same thing so there’s sense
of sorts in a camaraderie, missing
in our everyday lives, though friends,
and family do their best to assuage
our loneliness and poor self-esteem
where we can’t help comparing
ourselves with neighbours who seem
to be doing very nicely, thank you,
while we’re but getting nowhere fast
like the poor weather forecaster
always trying to convince us better
days are just ahead.

Robins singing, angel voices asking
why we’re all running around
in God’s backyard like headless chickens,
world chasing its own tail after Peace
(its Holy Grail), politicians rallying
worn phrases tried and tested
(if only for election clout) while the rest
of us rest on laurels as sure as winter
while glossing over its threatening skies
with talk of spring, change, everything
turning out better (if not best) when all's
said, done, leaving the astute artist
to gloss over any doubts with canvases
celebrating the bright and beautiful,
inspiring generations, in turn, to look,
listen, maybe even learn a thing or two
about life, love, nature and how art
copies more, far more, than what it sees
if only because beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, discern subtler differences
for better, for worse

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: an earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Looking out for Christmas, Anyone?

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Yes, Christmas will be with us in less than a month. However, not everyone enjoys a happy Christmas. For homeless people and others down on their luck, it is a time much like any other time...unless we can somehow make it special for them too.

Years ago, I met a homeless gay man who had been physically ejected from his family home on Christmas Day after his father discovered he is gay. This Christmas, I know of a couple on the run from their families who disapprove of their relationship because they are on opposing sides of the same religion. [If God doesn't mind, why should anyone else?]

No matter what religious festival is being celebrated at whatever time of year, a little understanding goes a long way. It is, after all, part of the pact we make with love. And what worth any religion without love in it? I am told that the God in whom so many people believe is a God of Love. Take love out of the prayer and ritual and all I imagine He sees is someone enjoying an ego trip.

We can't always expect to understand those we love and may not always agree with them, but that doesn't (or shouldn't) mean we love them less. It has always been one of humankind's greater tragedies that too many of us let socio-cultural-religious traditions dictate how we live, even love.

At the heart of every religious celebration is (or should be) love in all its shapes and forms...or what is there left that any God would have anyone celebrate?  

LOOKING OUT FOR CHRISTMAS, ANYONE?

Come, hear the bells of Christmas

though lost, alone, in the snow,

recalling times past when we’d leave

a card for Santa, hot cocoa

and a mince pie, try to sleep while

listening out for reindeer hooves

pounding across the sky, a cheery cry

ringing loud and clear for children

everywhere to hear, know (for sure)

that we are loved, no matter who

we are or how our lives shaping up,

whether or no we’re finding signs

of Christmas or much the same cruelty

(or worse) than the day before

Peering ahead down an endless road,

lost souls, alone, no place to go

till time (at last) to reclaim gifts of love

and peace, count blessings, let bells

speak for us, echo high and low, anxious

to share out the joys of Christmas,

fearful for lost souls looking for refuge

from a bitter-sweet winter snow
where no pretty flowers able to grow
yet nurtured out of sight and light
by Earth Mother, chief carer for a world
beyond even mind-body-spirit,
where all the odds stacked high against
mutual understanding or trust

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2013

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared in Christmas Remembered, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

The Other Side of Christmas

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Religious festivals are, among other things, about thinking of others and not taking all we have in life for granted since, there but for good fortune, go you and I...

For those men and women (some of them gay) fighting wherever there is conflict for a better, kinder, world,  may the future hold some real progress in that direction. As for the politicians who send them there, let’s hope they won’t lose sight of those finer aims either, in spite of being preoccupied, as they invariably are, with their own personal standing on the world stage. Nor should we forget loved ones left behind while those in the thick of war risk their lives on a daily basis.

Many fight another war, this time on the Home Front; against poverty, prejudice, loneliness, depression, rejection, unemployment…

I recall, some years ago now, sympathising with a elderly neighbour who had fallen on hard times after a company in which he had been a major shareholder collapsed. " A bad business," he agreed, "but it's as the wife says, so long as we have family and [or]friends we care about and who care about us, who needs shares in anything else?"  At the time, it struck me as a rather trite comment, a way of saving face perhaps. In my 70's now, I often contemplate the wisdom of those words, and cherish the sense of well-being with which they never fail to fill me.

Unhappy people have told me how they hate being told to count their blessings because they are too few. Maybe they - and more, if not all of us - need to look (and count) again...?

THE OTHER SIDE OF CHRISTMAS

No Christmas tree in the window,

no cards or festive decoration,

no real interest in some Baby Jesus,

cause of starry-eyed celebration

As for listening out for reindeer,

deaf ears will catch no sound

or bells ringing out glad tidings

of great joy to (all?) mankind

No joy in snowflakes whirling past

like dervishes on a battlefield

assured of spoils in this, my city,

by climate change across the world

As for taking comfort and delight

in any religious celebration,

fat chance, when all its factions

primed for eternal division…

Nothing special for Christmas lunch

(but better than going hungry)

yet I dare say we’ll survive another

parody of common humanity

Some folks struggle, same folks cope

for shares in Love, Guardian of Hope 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Winter, life forces in the Snow

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

For some people, winter is a time for looking back at kinder, happier, better, days, especially those who may find themselves alone at times like Christmas and other festive and/or religious occasions meant to be a time of coming together in a spirit of love and peace. Yet love-and-peace is neither seasonal nor an excuse for making out all is well with the world when it's not, but an all year round perennial, no excuses; we have but to believe in it and be prepared to play our part - big or small - to make it happen

(Photo taken from the Internet)

(Photo taken from the Internet)

The trick, so I'm told by wiser folks than me, is to draw on that same feeling for love-and-peace that once inspired us, and let it inspire us into renewal;  just as spring always follows winter so, too, that springtime of the heart if we but choose to let it go there. Sometimes, we don't need to colour things simply because - if we want it to be - the truth is plain to see in glorious black and white; colour it by all means, but we need to let our better senses do that for us.

WINTER, LIFE FORCES IN THE SNOW

Earth and sky coloured ominous

one midnight in midwinter

when I looked out of my window

to see a heavy snow falling,

thought I heard an owl calling me

(No, mistaken, surely ...?)

Then I saw it, silvery bird gliding

phantom-like, summoning
images of a lace tablecloth gracing

our table, oh, so many years ago,

when love-and-peace would spread
its wings and voice its pain

No family now, only a scattering

of memories like winter snow

piling on a branch by my window,

heaped higher even than regrets

these eyes glaring back at me deny

(or could it be they lie?)

Gone, the owl now, weary wings

but wistful, fleeting, moments

like characters in a classic movie
colouring themselves shades
of some broken rainbow colouring
decades of wishful thinking

The wind is up. A blizzard throws

an angry net over glaring traffic

on the night shift, testing the weary

and fainthearted, suggesting

an omnipresence if only to make up
for any human shortfall

Will nature stand by and let owl die

or lend it such sanctuary as found

under a cosy duvet inviting us to close

the eyes, bury the face, leave owl

winging winter's worst, not our fault
if that's just the way it is?

The heart, it yearns for the colours
of spring to bring it back to life,
recover perspectives long since flown,
comfort where there is but pain
for the way life was before its landscape
changed so ... or was it me, us?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Shot in Black and White'  Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]